


The Misadventures of Trapper and Hawkeye

by shatteredwriters



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce Whump, Drabble Collection, Everyone Loves Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Everyone Loves John "Trapper" McIntyre, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Late Night Writing, MASH one shots, Please Don't Hate Me, Whump, mash au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredwriters/pseuds/shatteredwriters
Summary: The year is 2007. CPT Quin McIntyre, Quinnie to everyone, is a doctor sent forward with 2nd Brigade, 82nd Airborne during The Surge in Iraq. She had volunteered for this; she graduated medical school in 2005, and knew there was only one place she could go: the Army. As tensions in the Middle East mounted, a long deployment loomed for Quinnie. Her grandfather gave her something that would help her in the days to come, provide her comfort and guidance, solace and joy. It was something that helped him cope over 50 years ago: his war journal.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Iraq, February 2007

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this idea has been bouncing around my head for awhile and I finally just committed and wrote it down! Buckle up, here we go: A collecton of short stories about the antics, happy memories, shenanigans and hard days (plus some shameless whump because it’s me and I obviously can’t help myself) of our favorite medical gang! Teen and up rating for some language.
> 
> Note: While I intro’d this as stories from Trapper’s war journal, I don’t explicitly stick to first person accounts told from Trapper’s POV. Trying to narrate the events I wanted to describe only in Trapper’s voice got to be a tad difficult, so this was my compromise. The majority of chapters will be from a third person perspective, more like a collection of stories and one-shots. But if I include any internal thoughts or write from a first-person POV, that will all come from Trapper! Sorry if this was confusing...hope you enjoy! (:
> 
> Also Note: Please forgive any historical and current medical/military inaccuracies about the Korean and Iraq Wars. I did my best to research and try to stay true to the facts of both wars.

Quinnie sighs as her body hits the stiff and unforgiving cot beneath her. She’d been on her feet most of the day, patching up the gruesome line of wounded Soldiers outside the medical tent. But, compared to the few stories she’d heard from her grandfather, that line could have been much worse.

She was part of a small medical team sent forward with the 82nd Airborne in The Surge. She’d only been in country for a month, 32 days to be exact, but it honestly felt like years. The sand, the heat, the violence. They were all slowly convincing her that maybe getting the Army to pay for her medical school wasn’t her  _ brightest  _ idea. Nevertheless, she had asked for this in choosing to commission instead of taking that cushy job at Massachusetts General Hospital. Quinnie knew the same could not be said for quite a few Soldiers in the Army today. 

_ Well, Grandpa John didn’t volunteer either _ , she reminds herself, absentmindedly pulling at the knots in her boot laces.

_ God, there’s dust everywhere _ .  _ When I get home (when… definitely when, not if), I’m sure I’ll be taking a chunk of the Iraqi desert with me. _

Chuckling slightly to herself, she lays down and tries not to think about how damn hot it was. Quinnie shuts her eyes and wills herself to get some sleep and escape reality for just a few hours.

She rolls onto one side...then the other. She is painfully aware of the sweat beading on her forehead and dripping down her back.

She rolls onto her back.

Then her stomach. 

Sighing (she feels like she sighs a hell of a lot more now than she used to), she pushes up from her cot and snags a weathered book from her duffel. Although she’s read it cover to cover a few times already, Quinnie finds she’s fascinated by her grandfather’s stories. Delicately opening the cover, she smiles at the barely legible scrawl on the first page:

“CPT John McIntyre”

And beneath it, in a different handwriting:

“The Misadventures of Trapper and Hawkeye”

It could have been the title of a goofy TV show or a book series. But to her, they were just memories, her grandfather’s memories. These stories made her laugh, made her cry, and made her wish that she was back in Boston. Blinking a few times, Quinnie wills the unspilled tears back into her eyes. Damn she misses them. Grandpa John especially.

Quinnie lets out her impossibly curly hair from her slicked back bun and sets it into a loose braid. She kicks her boots off and settles in. She tries not to focus on the fact that she was in the Iraqi desert, thousands of miles from home, in the middle of a war zone. For a while, she’ll get to escape to the at once similar, and yet incredibly different world that was 1950. Delicately flipping the yellowed page, she turns to the first entry.

“July 1st, 1950.”

TBC


	2. When We First Got Over Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1st, 1950. Hawkeye and Trapper had both recently arrived to the 4077th M*A*S*H and they'd become fast friends. But what happens when Majors Burns and Houlihan first show up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So we start Trapper's war journal with the first entry: an account of his first few days in the 4077th. His entry focuses on the prank Hawkeye devises to play on Major Burns and Major Houlihan, the two newly arrived officers. Told from a third-person POV. Enjoy!

_July 1st, 1950…_

Trapper let his arm fall back and shot the football high, aiming with surgical precision for Hawkeye’s outstretched fingers. He let out a short laugh as the ball practically hit Hawkeye in the hands and fell tumbling towards the dirt. While he bragged about being the best surgeon in the country, the lanky, raven haired Captain was clinically _terrible_ at sports. It brought out the gangling, awkward, uncoordinated side of him that amused Trapper to no end. With not much else to do around the camp, the two surgeons could often be found throwing (and in Pierce’s case, dropping) the football. They were begrudgingly committed to entertaining themselves and _not_ focusing on the fact that they were really, actually, truly in Korea. 

It had been exactly three days, four hours, and 52 minutes since they’d arrived at the 4077th, the MASH unit they’d been assigned to. As the unit was still standing up, Hawkeye and Trapper, along with a few nurses, a bespectacled Corporal, and a confused CO, were the only ones there so far.

Corporal O’Reilly, better known as Radar, wasn’t a hair over 18. He had round glasses and an uncanny knack for hearing choppers, but the Iowa native was a nice kid stuck in a place no nice kid should be. LTC Henry Blake was the CO. He was plucked from a successful practice and his family, handed a commission, and sent to the middle of a war zone. He always wore a bewildered look on his face, as if he’d left the stove on or forgotten something at the office. Though when it really counted, his bumbling Army demeanor gave way to a competent surgeon, and a good friend.

But Trapper thanked his lucky stars that the Army had sent him Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. If he had to be stuck in this hellhole, he was glad to have the gin-soaked surgeon by his side. They became fast friends; it was easy being the only two captains, sharing what would be charitably called a “tent”, and being hundreds of miles from home.

In the short span he’d known him, Trapper could tell that Hawkeye was especially skilled at getting into trouble. Well, mischief might be the better word, since Henry never _really_ got mad at them. It had only been three days and they’d already gotten half a dozen “stern” lectures for their practical jokes, pranks, and overall un-military like demeanor. But it was all worth it. Whatever it took to distract them from their current situation...was definitely worth it.

Little did Trapper know that the shenanigans were only getting started. July 1st. That was a truly memorable day because that was the day their new roommate got to the unit. Well...roommate was a generous label, and much too kind. Major Frank Burns was a bona fide, verified, genuine royal pain in the gluteus maximus.

* * *

As Hawkeye bent down to pick up the football from where it had landed, Trapper heard the roar of a jeep. A man and woman disembarked from the vehicle, straightening their pristine uniforms as they went. With the football tucked securely under his arm, Hawkeye lounged over to where Trapper was watching the arrival of what had to be the newest members of the 4077. 

“Who do you suppose they are?” Hawkeye inquired, rolling his eyes at their ramrod posture and overall air of superiority.

“Dunno. Wanna go find out?” Trapper said, wagging his eyebrows mischievously. Abandoning their game, the two surgeons edged closer to the jeep.

They could tell from their uniforms that they were both officers, and both Majors to boot. The man had a permanent look of displeasure fixed on his face and the woman seemed primarily focused on her own self-importance. 

Henry tripped out the door of what would soon be the mess tent (once all the walls were finished being put up) and ambled up to the pair. He swiped his fishing hat off his head and extended a hand to each of them.

Instead of shaking his hand, the two jumped animatedly to attention and threw up picture perfect salutes.

“Sir, Major Frank Burns, surgeon, reporting for duty!”

“Sir, Major Margaret Houlihan, head nurse, reporting for duty!”

At the look of puzzled annoyance that flashed over Henry’s face, Trapper and Hawkeye doubled over in laughter. 

“What...a bunch...of...squares!” Hawkeye spluttered out, trying and failing to catch his breath.

“Where’d they dig these two up?” Trapper agreed, wiping tears from his eyes and unsuccessfully attempting to hide his smile.

Henry threw them a stern look before clumsily saluting back to the two majors.

“Right, uh….Burns and um…Houlihan. If you’ll follow me, so that…uh…I will be followed, and you’ll be following me, to my office, where it is you’ll be following. Right, yes. My office.”

With a nod, Henry led the way. Both senior officers threw scornful glares at the boisterous captains, following quickly behind their new commanding officer. They could hear Henry calling out for Radar as he led the two new officers towards his office. 

“Are you thinking,” managed Hawkeye, dabbing at his eyes with the tie from his red bathrobe and leaning over towards Trapper, “what I’m thinking?”

Clearing his throat, Trapper glanced at Hawkeye. He shook his head as he finally got his breathing and laughter under control. 

“That major was kinda hot.” Hawkeye waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Trapper snatched the ball from under Hawkeye’s arm and gave it a small toss in the air. 

“Oh yeah, his high-pitched voice and perfect posture _really_ got me going.”

Hawkeye smacked Trapper on the arm as the two made their way back to their tent.

* * *

The mess tent was officially a mess tent: four walls and a functioning roof were put up right before dinner. As the inaugural meal, the cook had prepared a delicious spread of World War II aged chicken, lukewarm canned peas, and the lumpiest mashed potatoes Trapper had ever seen. Another great meal and another great day to be in the Army. 

Trapper and Hawkeye dropped their trays onto one of the only two tables in the building. They forced a few bites down, trying not to think about the taste or the smell, and chatted amicably about their lives back home.

A few moments later, the door slammed open and the two Majors strode purposefully into the room. Rolling his eyes, Trapper nudged Hawkeye in the ribs and gestured with his chin at the pair lining up for chow. 

“Say pal, wanna make some room for our new _friends_?”

Hawkeye heaved a discontented, dramatic sigh. “I suppose we could, it is the right thing to do after all. And they _are_ our superiors. We have to treat them with dignity and respect...”

Frank and Margaret finished collecting their food and were waved over to the table by Trapper. 

“Follow my lead,” Hawkeye whispered, before plastering on a fake smile.

“Sir! Ma’am! Come and join us! We were just _dying_ to meet you.”

The two majors sat down hesitantly, appraising Trapper and Hawkeye with condescending looks. Frank cleared his throat, glancing between the two captains.

“Major Frank Burns. And I presume you are the other surgeons, Captains Pierce and McIntyre?”

“Right you are, ol’ chap. And you must be the head nurse?” Trapper interjected, pointing his fork at Margaret. 

“That’s _Major Houlihan_ to you, Captain,” she responded, turning her nose up in the air.

Hawkeye tried to hide his snort behind a large bite of potatoes. 

“So, you two settling in nicely?” Trapper inquired, catching Hawkeye’s glance and giving him a wink.

It was Frank who answered. And by god, his _voice_. Trapper was convinced he hadn’t heard a whinier, smugger, or more annoying sound in his whole life.

“Yes, _Captain_ , we are. I was just expressing to Major Houlihan here that the accommodations are rather dingy for officers of our stature, but they will be adequate. After all, this is a war, and we can’t expect preferential treatment just because we’re both Majors.”

Trapper saw Hawkeye try his best to stifle his eye-roll, and chuckled silently to himself.

“What’s so funny, Captains?!” Margaret chimed in, fixing the two junior officers with a scornful stare.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing!” Hawkeye insisted. Leaning forward, as if he were sharing the biggest secret in camp, he lowered his voice and replied. “We were just saying the same thing, _Major_ Houlihan. The state of this outfit is unsatisfactory for officers of our stature.”

Frank eagerly nodded his head, as if he was finally seeing Hawkeye and Trapper’s worth for the first time.

“Exactly! I expressed this to Major Houlihan here not five minutes ago! I am glad to see that you two are in agreement.”

Lowering his voice conspiratorially, Frank speared a bite full of chicken and wagged the fork at Hawkeye and Trapper.

“Margaret and I here are under the impression that Colonel Blake is in over his head,” Frank finished his confession and then shoved the chicken into his mouth, looking self-righteously at his companions.

“You hit the nail right on the head, Frank. Pardon me, _Major Burns_ ,” Hawkeye interjected.

Trapper knew that his friend was gearing up for something. He knew Hawkeye had a plan, one that would definitely get them in hot water, but he couldn’t wait to see what Hawkeye thought up.

Glancing one way, and then the other, Hawkeye gestured for the others to lean in.

Wide-eyed, Frank and Margaret scooted closer.

“So. We’re not _supposed_ to tell you this…” Hawkeye began, dropping his voice even lower, belaying the “importance” of the conversation.

All at once, Major Houlihan and Major Burns quietly jumped in.

“No, please!”

“You can trust us!”

Hawkeye nodded his head, a serious look passing over his face.

“Well…Colonel Blake only _plays_ the fool. No, no, trust me! He actually runs a tight ship out here. Rules are followed, orders are obeyed, and everything is in tip-top shape. I mean, the morning after we first got here, both Trapper and I had a _uniform_ _inspection_!”

Frank and Margaret passed a grave look between them, and glanced at Hawkeye, begging him to continue.

“Yes! An inspection. In our dress uniforms and all. I had my rank a hair askance and that was it for me. Trapper had some mud in the treads of his shoes and he failed, too. Colonel Blake was a _stickler_. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you two had one tomorrow…”

The two Majors were shocked.

“An _inspection_?!”  
  


“The morning after we get here?!”

Major Houlihan pushed her tray away and stood up.

“My uniform is a mess! There’s so much to do! Pierce, McIntyre, thank you both for giving us this heads up.”

Turning to Frank, she continued.

“Frank come on! With the state our uniforms were in when we got here, it’s going to take us all night to get ready!”

Frank jumped up, nodding in agreement.

“I’ll see if I can scrounge up an iron. Meet you at your tent in 10 minutes.”

Hawkeye and Trapper shared a look and tried to hide their smiles.

“Oh! One last thing!” Hawkeye stood and grabbed both Majors by the arm. He lowered his voice.

“Our inspection was at 0500 right in front of the flagpole. If I were you, that’s were I’d be tomorrow morning!”

Hawkeye winked at them and threw up a mock salute. Frank and Margaret returned the gesture before spinning and hurrying from the mess tent.

As the door slammed shut, the two doctors burst out in laughter. Their rowdiness drew the stares of the other members of the tent. With a few chuckles and some eye rolls, the nurses and Soldiers turned back to their food. This wasn’t an abnormal outburst; the two Captains were frequently boisterous and up to no good.

“A uniform inspection? At 5 in the morning? Hawk you’ve outdone yourself!” Trapper managed between snickers.

Hawkeye lifted his mug of cold coffee and clinked it against Trapper’s, his signature grin plastered on his face.

“Let the games begin!”

* * *

The morning air was cool, as a slight wind danced through the trees. Sunrises in Korea were quite picturesque, even Hawkeye had to admit they contained a hidden beauty, a dramatic display of vivid watercolors that made you forget you were in the middle of a war zone.

But at 0455 in the morning, the sun was barely a sliver on the horizon. The sky was lightening ever so slowly, swirls of grey leaching the darkness from the night sky.

Two lone figures, dressed to the nines and standing ramrod straight at attention, were standing beneath the flag pole.

There were two others also up early that morning. Beneath the twinkling stars and before the rising sun, the friends watched Margaret and Frank shiver in their uniforms.

Trapper huddled inside his robe and tried to stifle a yawn. If it weren’t for the gratification they were soon to get from their prank, he would most assuredly still be in bed. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the whole “you’ll sleep when you’re dead” and “you can definitely survive off of 4 hours of sleep” mindset that the Army was notorious for.

Hawkeye peeked through the door of The Swamp at the lonely figures beneath the flag pole. He checked his watch. And then he checked it again.

Holding up a hand, he quietly put up five fingers. “Alright Trap…five…four…three…two…one!”

His whispered countdown ended as his watch face read 5:00 AM.

For a few moments the surgeons, both the ones waiting for a uniform inspection and the ones secretly spying on the ones waiting on the uniform inspection, were silent. The only sound that broke the stillness was the wind rustling the tent flaps. It was the calm before the storm. The other shoe was bound to drop. And then Frank’s piercing voice shattered what remained of that early morning quiet.

“Mar-ga-ret!”

“Oh, shut up, Frank. I can’t think when you’re yelling.”

“But, it’s now 5:01! What should we do?”

“Frank please! Shush!”

Margaret began pacing back and forth as Frank took off his cover and fidgeted with it. They continued to bicker, the shrillness of their voices carrying all the way to the Swamp. The two hiding surgeons, tired but content with their scheme, were barely containing their laughter. Curious heads began to poke out of tents across the camp, interested, annoyed, or downright angry at the squabbling match that was waking everyone up from their much-needed rest.

Hands over their mouths, with Frank and Margaret’s voices ringing in their ears, Hawkeye and Trapper shared an amused look. They knew the Majors had been up most of the night, shining shoes and oak clusters, pressing shirts and pants. They suspected the two did a little extra… _inspecting_ of their own, but Radar only reported to them what the officers had asked for. And as of midnight, they had still been busy fixing their uniforms.

Well, and busy doing _other_ things, Trapper was sure of it. But as of 0505, most of the camp was now awakened by the fuming Majors. Margaret and Frank were still arguing beneath the flag pole, and Trapper and Hawkeye we’re still laughing.

With tears in the corners of his eyes, Hawkeye slapped a hand on Trapper’s back.

“We’ll get heat for this today, my good man. But it was worth it!”

Nodding in agreement, Trapper stretched and plopped back down onto his bunk.

“Agreed old sport!”  
  


The two mimicking British accents sent them into another laughing fit, filling the Swamp with boisterous guffaws.

“Hey! Keep it down will ya? Your laugh could put the bugler out of business!” Trapper hissed, chucking a boot at Hawkeye. The other surgeon ducked and the boot smacked against the side of the tent, falling to the floor with a loud thump. Hawkeye feigned injury, reaching down to snag his new projectile.

“Me?! Your massive boot here nearly tore a hole out of the side of our tent! And that thump? Probably woke up half of North Korea. What a racket! What a _mess_!” With the punctuation on that last word, Hawkeye lobbed the boot back towards Tapper’s cot.

A yelp of surprise.

_Success._

With a chuckle, Trapper pushed the boot to the floor. They could hear the upset grumbles of the rest of the camp as they stirred, much earlier than they’d planned. It was now light enough for him to make out Hawkeye’s figure lying on the cot, fingers interwoven beneath his head.

For a few hours, they had forgotten they were in the middle of a war zone. The silliness of the prank, the gullibility of their new targets, the pay off of seeing Frank and Margaret dressed to the nines outside before 5 in the morning…

Hawkeye was right. It was worth it. Trapper felt that maybe what they did was childish, and Henry was definitely going to give them an earful, after the Majors gave him a piece of their mind of course. But this was Hawkeye’s specialty. His games, his antics, his jokes--they all let you escape from the reality of the situation. They relied on the humor and the pranks because otherwise, maybe they’d lose it. The fear, the death, the futility…it’d get to them. So the dumb prank? Definitely worth it.

“Trap?”  
  


“Yeah, Hawk?”

“All this hard work has made me thirsty,” Hawkeye mused. There was a glint in his eye, a beginning of a devious plan forming in his mind. “How up to date are you on your chemistry?”

“My chemistry...?”

“I’m thinking we need a still…”

Hawkeye’s grin was mirrored on Trapper’s face.

“Gin?”

“Gin.”

And so, in those last few moments of peace before Frank and Margaret busted into their tent, eyes blazing in anger, Hawkeye and Trapper decided to create another diversion from the war. An alcoholic diversion. Well, more like paint thinner, but you win some you lose some.

“Pierce! McIntyre!” Frank bellowed, as the two Majors barreled through the door.

“Yes mother?” Hawkeye drawled.

Frank and Margaret glared from one surgeon to the other, awaiting an explanation or an apology. If it were physically possible, steam would assuredly be coming out of both their ears.

“Wow! Frank. Margaret. You two look so nice! What’s the occasion?”

Hawkeye’s signature loud laugh filled the tent as the sun began to rise on another day in Korea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it! More chapters to come. Thank you for reading! Likes, comments, and critiques are always welcomed!


	3. I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three of "The Misadventures of Trapper and Hawkeye": I Promise
> 
> “September 20th, 1950”
> 
> Trapper squeezed his hands slowly, clenching and unclenching the stiff fingers. He still hadn’t gotten used to the surgery over here yet; the grueling hours, the endless assembly line of half-dead kids, the sheer damage a little bullet or shrapnel could wreak on the body…

“September 20th, 1950...”

Trapper squeezed his hands slowly, clenching and unclenching the stiff fingers. He still hadn’t gotten used to the surgery over here yet; the grueling hours, the endless assembly line of half-dead kids, the sheer damage a little bullet or shrapnel could wreak on the body…

Not even the burn of the gin in his throat could wash away the memory of the three soldiers he’d lost on the table today. He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it…it was a miracle they managed to save any at all with the shape these kids came to them in. _As Hawkeye always said, they were just trying to par the course._

Trapper tossed back the last of the gin and collapsed onto his cot. He hadn’t even bothered to take his boots off.

_Had it really only been two months?_

The days felt like they would never end, but the weeks seemed to fly by.

Before he could go into more mental math, he heard the door open and the cot next to him creaked as someone sat down. _Must be Hawkeye,_ Trapper thought _._ A weary sigh filled the stifling air in their tent. _Definitely Hawkeye_.

“I almost forgot what a bed felt like,” Hawkeye grumbled. A small smile tugged at the corner of Trapper’s mouth.

“You still haven’t felt one, no way this slab of wood could ever be mistaken for a bed.”

Hawkeye guffawed sarcastically. His loud laugh bounced off the walls of their tent as he threw Trapper an annoyed look.

“Rough day at the office, Trap?”

Trapper gave an imperceptible nod of his head.

“Rough day at the office, Hawk?”

His friend remained silent. No response. Trapper looked at Hawkeye, his eyes narrowed with unhidden worry.

Hawkeye rose slowly from his cot and poured himself a hefty glass of gin. And then another. After 18 hours in the OR, Trapper couldn’t blame him for doing so. If he was more awake, he knew he’d join him. But right now, he was just trying to forget his disastrous day in surgery. It was how he coped: grief and anger, acceptance, and then an alcohol-induced sleep.

The two friends lapsed into a comfortable silence; the hush only punctuated by Frank’s obnoxious snoring.

Trapper’s eyes began to shut of their own accord, willing him to succumb to his exhaustion. But something about the quiet just wasn’t sitting right. _Hawkeye was never quiet._ Trapper peeked an eye open and appraised his roommate: Hawkeye was just standing there, half-empty gin glass in hand, staring off into space.

“Hawk…?” Trapper began, concern coloring his voice.

He’d never seen him this silent before…had something happened that he didn’t know about? Before Trapper could ask if he was alright, Hawkeye broke the silence.

“Do…” Hawkeye started quietly before petering off. He cleared his throat, shakily setting his glass down on the table. “Do you think we’ll ever get used to it?”

The voice that came from his friend was quiet and uncertain, so unlike the charismatic, joking, and boisterous way he normally spoke. The hunch of his shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands…Hawkeye could pretend to go unaffected by this war, brush off the horrors they saw every day with a bad joke or a crude comment.

But he was hurting just as badly as Trapper was.

“No, Hawkeye,” Trapper responded slowly. “I don’t think we will.”

The dark-haired surgeon seemed to be contemplating this answer and didn’t respond right away. Trapper knew that the things they saw everyday would affect them. How could they not? It was their job to see the goriest and bloodiest side of this war, and do their damnedest to pull kids back from the brink of death.

Trapper followed Hawkeye’s movements, trying to see exactly what his friend was thinking. The slow untying of his boots. The bone-tired way he slumped onto his cot. The way his head hung, a hand raking through his unkempt hair.

Finally, Hawkeye raised his eyes to look at Trapper. There was a desperation in those deep blue orbs, a suffering and drained look.

“I don’t want to get used to this.”

With that Hawkeye lay back and rolled away from Trapper, bringing his knees to his chest. Another silence stretched between the two. Trapper assumed that Hawkeye must’ve fallen asleep and so he let his eyes drift shut once more.

Before he could get too comfortable, Hawkeye’s whisper brought him back to consciousness.

“Promise you won’t let me get used to this, Trap. Promise me.”

The tentative and distressed quality of his best friend’s voice all but broke Trappers heart. He knew he’d say anything to lift Hawkeye’s spirits and return him to the goofy jokester that the 4077th knew and loved.

He wouldn’t let Hawkeye go through this alone; they’d get through this war together.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the intro to set my story up, so please bear with me! More chapters will follow as soon as I can write them. Thank you for reading, and as always, likes, comments, or critiques are welcome!


End file.
